The Adventure of Mrs Hudson's Frying Pan
by Falco aesalon
Summary: When Mrs. Hudson is gone, Holmes and Watson have some peculiar adventures... involving a frying pan? NOT SLASH! Set before the movie, and based on the RDJ interpretation. Please R&R!
1. Part I: A Chemical Experiment

Inspired by the part in the movie in which Watson hit a thug with a frying pan at Reordan's lodgings.  
I know there's been lots of things where Mrs. Hudson is away visiting relatives, but there's almost no other way to get her out the picture for a few days. Also, this mostly sets up for the next chapter.

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, I'm just borrowing them and playing with them for a while.

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"Holmes, is that a frying pan?"

"I would have thought that was obvious Watson," my friend said as he lit his pipe.

"I suppose I should rephrase my question. Why is Mrs. Hudson's best frying pan holding your chemical experiment?"

"One, I have no other container at the moment. Two, Mrs. Hudson is gone. Three, Mrs. Hudson won't know about it because it will be back where I found it before she returns. Four, Mrs. Hudson won't know about it because I know you won't tell her, no matter what you threaten. Five, it is perfectly harmless; I have yet to add anything but the water already in it."

"Well, just make sure you don't destroy the thing; that's the fifth thing you'll have to pay her for this month."

"No, sixth."

"There were the curtains and those teacups you shattered," I said, counting them off on my fingers. "That makes three. And there was the chemical stain on the breakfast table -"

"That was your fault; you're the one who bumped the table."

"- and the closet door you wrecked." Holmes lowered his pipe.

"You're the one who shut me in!"

"Because you were stealing my clothes again!"

"I thought we were agreed that that coat was too small for you."

I suddenly realized that some burning tobacco must have fallen out of Holmes's pipe, because the chair and his dressing gown had caught on fire. "Holmes!"

"_I thought we were agreed!_"

"HOLMES! You're on fire!"

Holmes shouted something in French and attempted to beat the fire out. Suddenly noticing the frying pan full of water, I grabbed it and splashed the water on Holmes. Fortunately, we managed to beat the fire out, and the chair wasn't damaged too badly. We'd just need an explanation for the black marks on it.

We were silent for a moment. My mind was still trying to comprehend what had just happened.

"You all right?" I asked, breaking the silence.

"I believe so, thank you."

"You will probably have to reimburse Mrs. Hudson for the chair."

"So it's the sixth thing I'll have to pay Mrs. Hudson for this month."

"No, it's the fifth."

"Sixth, if you include the rent."

"Well, it's the fifth thing you'll have to reimburse her for. I meant reimburse, the rent does not fall under that category."

"You said 'pay'"

"I'm too tired to argue about this anymore, Holmes."

"Well, at least she won't return for six more days."

"It's been one day since she left, and you've already managed to set the chair _and _yourself on fire. At this rate, you'll manage to blow up the whole street by the time Mrs. Hudson gets back."

"It's not the worst that could happen."

Lestrade came around later that day, and informed Holmes of a new case. A certain Mr. Harrison was suspected of tax evasion, and Lestrade had hit a dead end. I figured this might help keep Holmes out of trouble with Mrs. Hudson, as he would be far too busy to destroy the Baker Street rooms. Or so I thought.

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To be continued! The "Holmes setting himself on fire" part is inspired by a report that Robert Downey Jr. accidentally set his trousers on fire with the pipe when filming the movie. I don't know if that's true or not, but it makes a funny story. And of course, there's the line about Holmes stealing Watson's clothes.

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	2. Part II: Criminal Mastermind?

"I'll probably be a while," said Holmes, as he left the Baker Street rooms. "There's no need to wait up for me."

Holmes was chasing the criminal called Harrison. He insisted that I remain at Baker Street. I was hurt by this, but I did as Holmes requested.

At about eleven o'clock, I turned off the gas lights and retired. Sometime later, I awoke to hear noises coming from the sitting room. My first thought was that Holmes had returned, and I was eager to ask him how the case went. I threw on my dressing gown and entered the sitting room.

The person in the sitting room (I cannot call it "our," as that would be agreeing with Holmes in that argument) was too short to be Holmes. I knew he had not gone out in disguise, but I could not rule out the possibility.

The intruder took no notice of me whatsoever. It dawned on me that he was perusing Holmes's papers.

I searched for a weapon of any sort. Papers, the frying pan, Holmes's bowler hat — the frying pan! I grabbed the frying pan and advanced toward the person. I forgot about the creaky spot on the floor, and had the misfortune of stepping on it. The person whirled around as I sprung forward. I landed several blows with the frying pan before the person hit back.

A scuffle ensued, ending with the intruder on the floor and myself on top of him, pinning him to the floor.

The man let out a stream of curses which I dare not repeat.

"Who are you?" I demanded.

The man grinned. Slowly, I realized why. The man had pulled a revolver out of his coat pocket. I slowly stood up and backed away as the man advanced on me with his gun. I felt the wall behind me and stopped. The man stood there with his revolver cocked and aimed at me.

After what seemed like hours, the door burst open and two shots rang out. I flinched, waiting for the pain to come, but it never did. I opened my eyes to see Holmes knock the intruder to the floor. The man spat out a tooth and was clutching his right hand in his left.

"Where have you been while this – this fiend was looking through your papers?"

"Go fetch someone from the Yard, will you Watson? There's a good chap."

I knew Holmes wouldn't answer any of my questions until the man was arrested, so I donned my coat and went to fetch the officials.

Once outside, I realized that the sun was rising and the great city was just beginning to stir.

...

Later that morning, as Holmes and I were eating a late breakfast (rather, I was eating it and Holmes was picking at it), I decided to ask Holmes about the events that occurred earlier that day.

"I never told you what happened?"

"No, you did not."

"Well, after I left Baker Street, I made my way to the residence of Mr. Joseph Harrison."

"The man that Lestrade consulted you about."

"Yes. Anyway, I was planning to look for the rest of the incriminating documents that can prove him guilty. Unfortunately, I was caught by his henchman and I realized I had inconveniently left my revolver in the tiger skin rug's mouth. The scoundrel overpowered me (he had a gun) and tied me to a chair, explained to me what he was going to do next (which I already knew), set the room on fire, locked me in and left. As you know, he was planning to come here and dispose of the documents I managed to procure on my last, er, visit to his home."

"So that's where you've been the last couple of nights," I said. "How did you manage to escape?"

"Apart from sailors, most criminals have no idea how to tie a proper knot. The lock was almost too easy to pick and the most of the household were still asleep. The police have the man in their custody now, but he refuses to talk."

"What of Harrison?"

"He left for the Continent, oh, almost two days ago. It'll be nearly impossible to find him now."

"You could have told me your plans, Holmes. Then perhaps I wouldn't have found myself backed against the wall with gun pointed at me."

"I'm sorry Watson, but it was essential that you remain at Baker Street in case the villain slipped away and attempted to destroy what evidence I had."

We were both silent for a moment, picking at our breakfasts.

"I sense a criminal mastermind at work here, Watson," said Holmes. "Not Harrison; he is most certainly not intelligent enough to know to leave before I even got to his home. I believe there must be someone else behind it all, like a spider at the center of a tangled web whose threads run throughout this great city, knowing all, yet undetectable unless his minions slip, as in this case."

"Right," I said, not quite understanding Holmes's oblique comment. "Just make sure you remember your revolver next time."

...

Sorry for taking so long and the fact that it's not that long! I couldn't decide which way it was going, and then I started some other stuff, and yeah. And Holmes forgets his revolver... again. Oh, and this is pre-movie, so Holmes doesn't yet know the identity of the criminal mastermind, our hated Professor James Moriarty. And I suppose Harrison is one of Moriarty's minions.

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	3. Part III: A Rather Unforunate Chicken

"Really Holmes, you just _had_ to start a fire in Mrs. Hudson's kitchen."

"First, Watson, I did not intend to set a fire. Second, I was trying to cook dinner. It probably tastes much better than it—ow, be gentle with me, Watson!"

"Mm-hmm," I said, as I bandaged Holmes's hand. The chicken looked quite inedible, and I had no wish to find out how it tasted.

"Well," said Holmes as he inspected the black lump, "perhaps I could use a little more practice."

"Indeed," I said. "From what little I know, chickens are not supposed to be cooked in the oven at high temperatures for over three hours, and probably should not be baked in a frying pan. Nor should they be removed with bare hands after sitting in the hot oven that long."

Perhaps I should start from the beginning.

After the excitement from last night we had had a busy day, questioning the man who had been arrested. Holmes must have felt guilty about risking my safety, because he decided to cook dinner that evening. I was reading a book in the sitting room when I smelled smoke and heard a shout, so I raced downstairs to find a most ridiculous scene. The kitchen was a mess and as hot as a furnace. A frying pan sat on the stove and whatever was in it was on fire. Holmes was desperately trying (and failing) to beat the fire out.

"Don't just stand there, Watson! Help me!"

After a while, we finally got the fire out and the kitchen somewhat cleaned up. I saw burn marks on Holmes's hand and told him so.

"It's nothing, Watson."

"If it's nothing, then it won't even hurt to have me look at it."

After some heavy persuasion, Holmes allowed me to look at his hand, and thus we are brought to where I started my story.

After bandaging Holmes's hand, we were left with nothing but a burned chicken on the table.

"Well," said Holmes. "I hope the Royale's chicken isn't anything like this lump of charcoal."

...

Sorry for the long wait/short chapter. My muse chose a bad time to pack up and head out on vacation to Hawaii. It's good to have him back, even though he's asking nonstop if he can have candy for lunch. Maybe reviews will persuade him to stay (hint hint) ;)

And yes, the frying pan Holmes used for the chicken is the same one from the last two chapters.

Until next time. *salutes*


	4. Part IV: The Return of Mrs Hudson

Mrs. Hudson's cab pulled up to 221 Baker Street. She had found the she was starting to miss the place, though she was certainly not missing a certain tenant.

Now Dr. Watson was a proper gentleman, but Mr. Holmes had to have been the worst tenant in London! Mrs. Hudson could only hope the Dr. Watson had managed to keep the detective out of trouble...

...

"Hurry, Holmes!" I chanced a glance out the window and to my horror, a cab had just pulled up to our Baker Street lodgings.

"Patience is a virtue," Holmes said in an annoying sing-song voice.

"We've got five minutes at best, Holmes! Mrs. Hudson's cab just pulled up!" I groaned under Holmes's weight as the detective endeavored to put a heavy painting back up where it belonged.

A few hours before this painful predicament, Holmes had been fiddling with his chemicals and the frying pan full of water. About fifteen minutes after he started, a loud explosion had shaken the house (this is the reason why 221C Baker Street never occupied long), followed by several loud crashes as various objects fell from the walls or wherever they were perched.

Among the objects that fell was Mrs. Hudson's favourite painting, a gift to her from her late husband.

Fortunately, the painting was not damaged, but it seemed quite unbalanced, would not stay straight (anyone who has ever had to hang something like a painting on a wall will know what I mean) and it was taking far too long to put it back the way it was.

I have never considered Holmes to be a heavy man, but after you have been kneeling on the rug with your friend standing on your back for long enough, you start to feel the effects of remaining in that position for so long.

I heard the door open, the sound of footsteps going straight to the kitchen. I smiled to myself. Of course Mrs. Hudson would want to make sure Holmes had not destroyed her kitchen before unpacking.

"Holmes, she's in the kitchen now. Any minute-"

"Stunning observation, Watson."

Mrs. Hudson's footsteps were headed toward the stairs.

"Holmes!" I hissed. "Hurry up!"

"Got it!"

Holmes stepped down off my back and I stood up, just as Mrs. Hudson started up the stairs and caught sight of us.

"Oh, good morning doctor."

"Good morning, Mrs. Hudson. How was your trip?"

"Very nice, thank you."

A loud thump sounded from the next room.

"Holmes," I growled and entered our sitting room.

Holmes was lying face down on the settee. The thumping noise had obviously been the book falling from the settee to the floor. And Holmes was laughing. I had no idea why, but I began to laugh too.

Perhaps twenty minutes later, Mrs. Hudson entered the sitting room to find two grown men laughing like school boys. She simply shook her head and shut the door.

Once Holmes and I had stopped laughing, I sat in my chair, reading a book while Holmes sat curled up in his own, smoking his pipe. I could hear Mrs. Hudson preparing dinner in the kitchen, when suddenly, footsteps thundered up the stairs.

"You'd better run for it, Holmes," I said.

Holmes had already extinguished his pipe, grabbed his coat and was just climbing out the window when Mrs. Hudson burst in, ready to rage and shout at Holmes when a rude sound from the corner caught our attention. Gladstone looked up innocently, and we all began to laugh again. I will never know if Gladstone did that on purpose to save Holmes from being evicted, or if it was just coincidence.

After things settled down and Mrs. Hudson had forgiven Holmes, the bell jangled, signaling a client for Holmes. It turned out that they were worried parents, and wanted Holmes to find their daughter, who had gone missing. They suspected she may have fallen into the hands of a cult which had brutally murdered four other girls in a sort of grotesque ritual...

~Fin

This is the last chapter, seeing as Mrs. Hudson has returned. So, review? Please? *offers plushie of Gladstone*


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